


Accidental Tourist

by basaltgrrl



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-04
Updated: 2010-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basaltgrrl/pseuds/basaltgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  It's really not Gene's thing, but Sam knows how to get through it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidental Tourist

  
  
  
  
**Entry tags:**   
|   
[character: gene](http://community.livejournal.com/lifein1973/tag/character%3A%20gene), [character: sam](http://community.livejournal.com/lifein1973/tag/character%3A%20sam), [fic](http://community.livejournal.com/lifein1973/tag/fic), [fic type: slash](http://community.livejournal.com/lifein1973/tag/fic%20type%3A%20slash), [genre: hurt/comfort](http://community.livejournal.com/lifein1973/tag/genre%3A%20hurt%2Fcomfort), [genre: pwp](http://community.livejournal.com/lifein1973/tag/genre%3A%20pwp), [pairing: sam/gene](http://community.livejournal.com/lifein1973/tag/pairing%3A%20sam%2Fgene), [rating: brown cortina](http://community.livejournal.com/lifein1973/tag/rating%3A%20brown%20cortina)  
  
---|---  
  
_  
**Accidental Tourist, brown cortina, Sam/Gene**   
_   


Title: Accidental Tourist  
Word Count: 3633  
Pairing: Sam/Gene  
Rating: Brown cortina for language, drug use, sex  
Summary:  It's really not Gene's thing, but Sam knows how to get through it...

Much thanks to Fawsley for beta action!  
 

Sam knew something was wrong when he saw Gene’s eyes.  Those eyes were marvelously expressive instruments (never mind that the range of emotions expressed tended toward the curt and severe) but now, one hand clenched with white knuckles on the doorframe to Sam’s flat, the other fisted, Gene stared at him with what might be described as fright.  And hugely dilated pupils.

“Guv?” Sam noticed the sheen of sweat at Gene’s hairline, the subdued tremor.

“Tyler.  I – uh, I might need your – could you invite me in, you tosser?!  I don’t want to have this conversation in the hall for all to hear!”

Sam stepped back and made an inviting gesture.  Gene whisked through the door and slammed it, then stood looking rapidly about as if he wasn’t sure what came next.  Outside in the night the ordinary routine continued, but in Sam’s flat weirdness had just gone into overdrive.

“I was down at the Nag’s Head, playing some cards, working undercover, like, trying to find out about that gang, the one we’ve been chasing with O’Rourke in it and I think they were on to me all the time, the bastards.  I think they did this to me.”

“Did what?”

“Dosed me!” Gene turned a red-eyed glare on him.  “Do I look like my normal suave self, DI Tyler?  They slipped me something in me drink!  You have to help me figure out what it is!”

“Well sit down.  Tell me about it.  What are the symptoms?”  Sam asked with an attempt at clinical detachment.

“Feels like my skin is going to fucking crawl off my body!”

“You mean, like ants, or…?”

“Ah… no, like…”

“Too much energy?”

“Yeah?”

“What else?”

“The light.  S’weird.  Things look… strange.”

Sam pursed his lips, then waved a hand slowly across Gene’s field of vision.  “See anything strange?”

“Yeah, it’s like – fuck, it’s like your hand is smearing the air.”

“LSD.”

“What??”

“Acid.  Gotta be.  Well, you’re in for one hell of a ride, Guv.”

“You’re joking me.”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Christ!  Isn’t there something I can do??”

“Sit back and enjoy it?”

Gene gave him a shocked expression, then ducked around the corner to the bathroom.  A moment later the sound of violent retching ensued.  Sam hurried after him.

“What are you doing??”

“Gettin’ rid of the stuff!”

“Gene – it’s not going to help if you’re already having symptoms!”

Gene’s broad back rocked over the toilet bowl as he sank back on his heels.  “Don’t care.  Christ!  I hate drugs!  Seriously, Tyler, I can’t even sit still!”  His hands were scrubbing up and down his thighs.  When Sam’s eyes went to them Gene hugged himself and abruptly stood up, stalked into the kitchen and back.  “Scotch.”

Sam got the bottle and two glasses.

Gene took a seat in the armchair, downed his scotch in one, gestured for another.  “Will this help?”

“Might take the edge off.”

“It bloody well better turn the damn thing into a blunt kitchen knife.   How fucking long?”

“Twelve hours?”

“Bloody hell!”  Gene’s mouth twisted in disgust.  “Can you get rid of that bloody noise???”  After a moment Sam figured he was referring to the latest Roxy Music hit on Radio 1.   Sam tuned to Radio 3 in an attempt to find soothing music.  At least the orchestral number was not one of  the sturm und drang variety.

“That do anything for you?”

Gene shrugged, elbows on knees, chin in hands, staring fixedly at the wall just below the window like a seasick man staring at the horizon.  There were huge wet patches on his shirt.

“Anything I can do?”

“Turn back time?” Gene barked, not shifting.  “No?  Then shut the fuck up.”

Sam watched him for a moment then walked into the kitchen.

“Sam.”  He looked back – Gene’s eyes shifted sideways.  “Just – don’t leave me alone wi’ this.”

“I won’t.  I promise.”

 

 _Shite.  This stuff is shite.  Cannot believe I am here, with this shite running through my veins.  Is it in my veins?  My brain?  I’m wrong, it’s just wrong all through.  Bad things happening inside.  What things get changed inside?  How does it all work?  How does it all go bad?  Shite.  Tyler knows.  About drugs, he knows things.  At least I’m here.  Here in this crap flat, with this crap wallpaper; hate the wallpaper.  Hate it even more; it’s a crap design, and I don’t like what it’s doing.  Sam, you need a new flat._

 

An hour passed like a night of bad dreams.  Sam pottered about, but stopped when he ran out of things to clean and Gene made frustrated noises.  It was nearly midnight when he settled onto the bed, fully clothed, with two fingers of scotch in a glass, having given Gene a refill that went unacknowledged.

“You’ve never tripped before?”

A bleak stare.

“Taken LSD.  For fun.”

“No.”

“A lot of people experiment when they’re young.  Drinking, drugs…”

“Would you give over!  I told you I hate drugs!  Seen ‘em ruin many a life – didn’t want to do that to meself.  And – for fun??”

“Not everyone ruins their lives.  Otherwise…”

Again the bleak stare.  “One ruined life is enough.   My brother lost his.  I had mates that messed things up for themselves.  Didn’t want that.”

“I tried things, and I turned out alright.  You’ll survive this, Guv.”

Gene glared.  “You did this shite?”

“Well – yeah.”

“Fuckin’ idiot.”

Sam felt his face go hot.  “Everyone is young and stupid sometime.”

Gene lurched to his feet and wavered like he had forgotten how to walk.  “I need a pee.”

“You know where the toilet is.”

Sam watched him go, concerned, and tipped back a gulp of whisky.  This was harder than he had thought it would be, the babysitting.  It didn’t surprise him that Gene was fighting every step of the way, but he just had not anticipated how hard it would be to watch.  Sheer torture, really, but nothing compared to what Gene was going through.

Sam had enjoyed tripping, at twenty-three, with five of his mates, all of them rolling on the floor laughing at the fucking absurdity of the universe.  He suspected that Gene had never laughed at such a thing.  Gene seemed far more likely to give the absurdity of the universe a swift punch to the kidneys and tell it what a bastard it was.

When Gene hadn’t come back after fifteen minutes Sam went to check.  Gene was sitting on the toilet, all done up thank god, and staring at the bathroom wall six inches from his face.

“It’s breathing,” he announced.

“It’s not.  It’s a wall.”

“Sam, I can see it—throbbing, like.  Like it’s all alive.”  Gene didn’t sound scared, at the moment; didn’t look scared.  Didn’t look anything in particular, or nothing Sam could name.  “I know it’s not, but that’s what it looks like.”  He turned his gaze upwards.  “You look like…”  The green eyes were direct, but fathomless.  The face was softer than Sam had ever seen it, soft with wonder or just with Gene being high as a kite.

“Here, come on.”  Sam held out his hand.  Gene took it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.  “Let’s sit somewhere more comfortable for a while.”

“No.  I have to go ‘ome.”

“You have to stay here!”

“Gotta go ‘ome.  The missus…”

“Guv, she’s been gone for months.  She left, remember?”

Gene gave him a look that had so much in the depths of it; his awareness of every bastard fact of his existence, for one, and of just how gone the missus was, and how absolutely frightened it had left him.  “Yeah, but I gotta go ‘ome…”

His insistence didn’t last past the main  room.  Sam guided him to the chair and convinced him to sit in it.

 

 _There’s no one for me.  No one.  She’s gone, left without a word.  Just a look, and that was worse than any words.  Words.  Shite.  I’m losing ‘em.  What is happening to my hands?  They seem like they belong elsewhere.  Don’t look.  Don’t look at the wallpaper.  Don’t think about home.  Don’t think.  Stop.  Oh god.  Sam Tyler.   I gotta go home.  Why?  Tyler.  Stay with me.  He’s here, I’m OK.  Drugs.  Drugs are shite.  Oh god.  This chair is alive.  Tyler’s chair.  It’s OK.  Don’t look at the wallpaper.  She’s gone, but I’m here.  In this chair.  He’s here.  It’s OK._

 

Another hour passed, slower than the last.  Gene moved very little.  He accepted scotch when it was offered but didn’t seek it.  Sam turned on the TV and Gene jerked as if he had been shot, then waved it away so urgently that Sam turned it off again.

“Really, Gene, is there anything I can do?  Is it any better?”

“Oooh, this is bad, this is bad.  I—“  he stared through the wall for a moment without moving, then seemed to be trying to frame an idea.  “S’like… there’s a hole just behind me.  But I can’t see it.  Can’t turn fast enough.”

“Everything is still where it always was, Gene.  It’s just the drug.  Just remember that.”

“I’m hot.  I’m too hot.”  Gene stood up, unbuttoning his shirt with shaking hands.

“Here.”  Sam handed him a glass of water which Gene flinched from.  “No, listen, Gene.  Drink it.  You’ll be OK.”

After a suspicious glance he took the glass.  “Is it a good idea…?”

“Is what a good idea?”

“Drinking—“ a frustrated wave of his free hand.  “Then you have to eat.”

“Yes, you do eventually.  Not now, if you don’t want to.”

“I’m hungry?”  It sounded more like a question than a statement, and Gene looked lost, like he had forgotten the glass in his hand, or his name.  Sam  put a hand on his shoulder, intending to guide him to a seat on the bed, and Gene shuffled a step closer and laid his head on Sam’s shoulder.  Sam wrapped both arms around him, trying to project comfort.  They stood there, swaying a little.

“I really hate this, Sam.”

“I know.”

“Don’t let go.”

“I won’t.”

It lasted a long time, that embrace, but Sam lost track of time as he breathed Gene’s sweat and fear and smoke and musk and tried not to think about how close they were and how good it felt.  He tried to think about comfort, and how important it was to not take advantage of this kind of situation.  He wondered exactly what kind of situation this was, and whether it was common enough to justify any rules of engagement.

Eventually it was Gene who shifted, pulled away, but just far enough to stare into Sam’s eyes.

“You’re a good friend, Sam.”

“I try to be.”

“’m tired.”

“Could you sleep?”

Sam led him to the bed.  Gene sat, then lay back and stared at the ceiling.

“Ceiling’s breathing, too,” he announced.

Sam sat next to him, put a hand on his.  “The drug, Gene.”  All of a sudden he felt a deep, leaden tiredness.   He lay back, thinking it would be comforting to Gene, and that he would move to the chair once Gene was asleep.

 

 _The ceiling.  It’s not any closer.  No.  Don’t look at the wallpaper.  This bed is shite.  Fuck, how can Sam stand it?  Sam.  He’s here.  It’s OK.  This bed is safe.  A safe place.  Don’t look at the wallpaper.  It’s dark.  Who turned out the lights?  Sam.  He’s here.  My feet – they’re so far away.  The ceiling.  It’s not any closer.  Sam.  Sam’s hand.  It’s safe.  What time is it?  How long…?  When will I be normal again?  Will I be normal again?  Don’t look at the wallpaper.  This is a safe place, here with Sam.  I’m OK.  The girl.  She’s staring at me.  Why is she staring at me?  She’s staring at Sam.  Where did she come from?_

 

Sam woke with a start, pain stabbing through his neck.  He had fallen asleep on the bed, but awkwardly propped against the headboard.  The only light was from the TV, the blue glow of the test card screen.  Next to him the light glittered in Gene’s eyes.

“She said you don’t usually sleep so soundly,” Gene said, almost conversationally.

“That was sound?”  Sam rubbed his neck.  “She?”

Gene pointed off to Sam’s right.  A frisson of fear ran fingers over Sam’s scalp, but he turned.  She stood in the far corner of the room.  She looked grave.  Suspicious.

“I’m supposed to just be here for you, Sam,“ she said accusingly.

“She visit a lot?” Gene asked.

Sam shook his head no, then shuddered.  Put his face in his hands.  “Most nights,” he said through his fingers.  “Doesn’t do much.”

“That what you have nightmares about?”

“Well, she’s there, sometimes, but no.”

“So,” this to the girl who stood watching them. “Are you going to visit me, too?”

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Neither are you.”

“Neither is Sam.”

Gene pursed his lips.  Squinted.  “’E’s my deputy.  ‘Course he’s supposed to be here.”

“Sam needs to get back to the people who want him.”

Gene looked annoyed, all of a sudden, active rather than passive.  “I need ‘im.  I want ‘im.  He stays here.  You don’t like it, you can bloody well piss off back to TV fairy land.  Get lost, little girl!”

“It’s not so easy,” she said, with an intonation that made the words sinister.  “Sam.  I need you to do something for me.”

“Oh for god’s sake, what??”

“Turn yourself off, Sam.”

Gene shook his head.

“You have to be strong, Sam.  You have to be strong for your mum.”  And now her intonation had shifted to something wheedling and desperate.  “She misses you so much.”

The idea of his mum seemed more distant than at any previous time.  He realized that Gene had thrown one arm across him in a protective gesture.  It really did seem to make a difference; he had screamed at the girl before, and begged her to leave him alone, but now he stared at her with an exhausted numbness.

“Leave,” Gene spat.

She gave one reproachful look, then melted into the wall.  Sam kept staring at the corner where she had been.  He had seen her come and go often enough, but to have her go on command like that turned his world a little askew.

“So,” Gene sighed, “we can sleep now?”

Sam grinned at him, tiredly.  “Yeah.  We can.”

Sam changed into his pyjamas and brushed his teeth, alone in the bathroom but entirely aware of the man in the other room.  It seemed too intimate, but also not intimate enough.

“You can use my toothbrush…?” he offered.

Gene waved it away.  “One night won’t kill me.  Sleep in me clothes.”

Sam finished up and lay down on the bed, shaking out the blanket and settling in.  Gene stood up from the chair, walked across the room.  Sam looked up at him, open and waiting, and then held out the blanket to make room.  Gene sat down on the bed, eased himself down next to Sam and pressed up against him.  After a long moment of both of them staring at the ceiling Gene turned, wriggled around until his face was against Sam’s shoulder.  “I just need to touch someone,” he muttered.  “That OK?”

“It’s fine, Gene.”  Sam put a hand on Gene’s shoulder.

“I just need…”

“It’s really OK, Gene.”

Gene put his arm across Sam, pulled him, kept pulling him until he rolled closer, then sighed and seemed to ease.  Despite the heat of the two of them in the too-small bed, and the knees and elbows, Sam cherished the moment and told himself to remember it the next time he was getting thrown up against a set of filing cabinets.  It was ridiculous to expect more, when the likelihood of Gene out of his mind on acid and cuddling in Sam’s own bed was so very outrageous of a scenario.

 

 _Sam is safe.  This is a safe place.  This bed is shite, but we’re safe here.  Can’t see the wallpaper.  The drugs will end.  The drugs will end.  The drugs will end.  Safe here.  The girl is gone.  She won’t come back tonight.  I sent her away, and Sam is safe.  Don’t need to go home.  Can’t see the wallpaper.   This bed is a safe place.  Oh Sam.  Sam.  Sam Tyler knows things; he’s safe.  I have wanted this for so long.  Sam Tyler.  Your bed.  Your home.  I want this._

 

He woke with sun streaming in the window, and a heavy, insistent presence pressed up against his back.  It took Sam about half a second to realize that Gene sported the same morning hard-on that he himself had; Gene’s was pressed against his arse.  Moving with exquisite care Sam started to lift the arm draped across his body.  And then the arm tightened and the hand slid down to fondle, through the thin layer of pyjamas.

“Gene,” Sam whispered.

“Yeah,” Gene answered in a normal tone of voice.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it feel like?”

“Uh, why are you doing it?”

“Sam…”  Gene pressed a little closer, if that was possible.  “Don’t you want this?”

“I…”  And of course he knew he did.  The seed had been there from the moment Gene had manhandled him across a room.  He just had never expected any event to unlock the possibility.  He still didn’t know if it was a good idea, but Gene’s fingers were gently tracing the length of his cock and it felt more right than wrong.  He closed his eyes, let the sensation take him.  “Is it a good idea?” he asked, reluctantly.

“Why not?”

“You’re the Guv, I’m your DI.”

“No one need know.”

Sam rocked his hips back against Gene, elicited a startled groan.  “Can we really keep it a secret?”

“We can bloody well try.”  And Gene was slipping his fingers under the waistband of Sam’s pants, and then they were on Sam’s bare cock and he was tingling and wanting and forgetting all about CID.  “I have thought, “ said Gene with a stroke, “about this.  For a very… long… time.”

It was delicate and dangerous and hard to let go of his many inhibitions.  There seemed so many reasons not to, but Gene was a very compelling force.  Sam rolled to face him.  Still the heavy, pockmarked face, the pursed lips, the forelock gold in the morning sun.  But the expression was something Sam had never expected; parted lips, something eager and afraid.  Sam fumbled Gene’s flies open and took his cock in hand and they stared into each other, touching.

Gene licked his lips.  “Do you mind if I…?” 

And he was shifting around on the creaking bed, crawling downwards, and then his breath was on Sam’s cock, and all Sam could do was moan, “Oh my fucking god,” as Gene took him into his mouth.  And this was truly beyond anything he would ever have imagined.  And Gene was good at it - that took his breath away.  Sam thrust involuntarily as Gene cupped his balls, sucked, drew him deeper.  It wasn’t going to last long, and he wanted aeons of it.  There was a little bit of everything, a strong grip on his cock and hot pressure and intimacy and the warm sun.  It was rising, rising, and he tried to say something, to warn Gene, but he couldn’t do anything other than moan and shake as he came, with Gene taking it and not pulling away.

Sam sprawled, still tingling and flushed all over.  He felt he ought to return the favour, but it was hard enough to accept that what had just happened was real.  Or as real as anything.  He almost felt that he was the one on the acid trip.  And then Gene slid a hand under him, probing, and he gasped and twitched away.

“Sam, can I…?”  He was pushing, he was lubricated with something, pushing a finger into Sam.  Sam nodded, spread his legs, pulled his knees higher.  The finger pressed and Sam closed his eyes.  A second finger, more lube.  Where had that come from?   He opened his eyes to see Gene, trousers down to his knees.  How had he taken charge like this?  His cock pushed against Sam’s arse and Sam rolled his hips up, helping.

And then it was happening, Gene was fucking him.  It had all just moved forward of its own accord.  There were no decisions being made, no negotiations and no delicate maneuvers.  Gene’s cock was sliding into Sam, not the first cock he had ever had in his ass, but it felt so damn good, and he was staring into Gene’s eyes and being stared back at.  Gene’s expression was still open and marveling and aroused like nothing Sam had ever seen before.

“Oh fuck,” Sam said.  It was so very good, and Gene was groaning, gasping, thrusting harder.  It was better than he had ever imagined it would be (and just how many times had he imagined this?) with Gene still half-clothed but entirely wanton.  And thrusting for a last time, pulsing and closing his eyes at last, shaking and clasping Sam’s knees against his chest and sweat was dripping from his nose unless it was tears.

He pulled out after a moment, lay down again, still half dressed and not caring.  Slung an arm across Sam’s chest and pulled him close and pressed his lips to Sam’s ear.

“You’ll be the death of me, Sam Tyler.”

“I certainly hope not.”

“I want to do that again.”

“Me too.”

“Want to do that a thousand times.”

“But not the LSD part, right?”

Gene slapped him, not hard.

“Never.  Fucking.  Again.  Bastard.”

“Fair enough.”

 

 


End file.
